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Lucy and Rankine, Berlin Station

India was amazing and extraordinary but Ive got to say its great to be back home, and I'm 3kg lighter - even after 5 days feeding my face with my brother and sister in Berlin. I really do understand now why I was warned about going alone and without a fully worked out plan because it really was the toughest trip I've ever done. Nevertheless I am so glad I did it that way - it was wonderful. The thing about India the way I encountered it is that it is full on and in your face the entire time, a constant stimulation almost all at once of  all of the senses , every  colour and smell and  taste and sight and sound, and every emotion,  whether it be surpise, anger or elation or horror or delight, disgust or amusement or frustration and every physical sensation from exhaustion and perspiration to cramping stomach pain to satiation after a lovely meal, - my experience of India  at any moment was a random permutation of several or  all of these, and it changed almost by the minute.

I have already said it but it remained true the entire time, that the thing that delighted me most of all were the animals, and especially the cows. They always brought a smile to my face because of their wonderful calmness, their complete indifference to everything erupting all round them and the surprising places they always turned up in. I have been used to cows being very wary of people but in India the cow hardly notices when you squeeze between it and a TukTuk to get along a narrow street, and it would continue to camly chew the cud while sitting down in a chaotic roadway with streams of cars and trucks and buses and motorbikes and people  rushing by all round. Indian people treated them lovingly in the main - I remember watching a shopkeeper trying to get a cow to shift from in front of his doorway in Pushkar, settled down under all the shirts and skirts that were hanging off his awning and blocking access to everything - he made a couple of feeble attempts waving his hands and tugging gently on its tail but it didnt budge so he gave up! I never saw a driver of any vehicle express frustration at his way being blocked by a wandering cow - he just waited for it to move off or went around it. Eventually I couldnt resist patting any cow I came across. But the donkeys were sweet, it was always delightful to watch the antics of  monkeys scampering across rooftops and leaping  about the place,  it was always great to see a few camels  going by or buffalo wallowing in a pond and of course almost out of this world to see an occasional elephant being ridden down the street in Delhi and other places : the locals barely noticed them but all the tourists stopped in their tracks! Is there any other place in the world where this sort of  intermingling of the lives of people and animals is so deep? One evening I walked along a roadside and a solitary goat walking in the same direction gradually caught up to me and carried on past me as if it was heading for the shop like I was! I half expected it to say something to me.Crazy!

The temples and forts and palaces were amazing of course, quite magnificent structures, all ancient and in the case of Temples still very much a part of everyday life in Rajasthan, but isnt it the people that really are what make a place alive and memorable? The children I encountered were all delightful, as they are everywhere, but many were so poor and so deprived and so underprivileged it was heartbreaking - in Udaipur every day I crossed a bridge several times going to and from Dream Heaven and somewhere along it, usually near the middle if the cows hadnt already taken the spot, a wretched scruffy man would sit with a tiny girl, I suppose his daughter, and they would beg for money. The girl I am sure was less than 5 but was there all day doing nothing else, walking from one end of the bridge to the other to  pester passes-by for help.Once, when the bridge  was deserted except for them I watched from a distance as she hurried 30 feet along the bridge, squatted for a pee and then went back to her dad. They got used to seeing me, and I always gave them something : one day I was in a streetside cafe and I heard someone say "Hello" and I saw that little beggar girl peering at me between the wooden railings - not  begging just saying hello and smiling.

As for the grown-ups in India, firstly , women are barely visible, and almost impossible to talk to, whereas the men, especially younger men are eager to chat. Whereas the women are quiet and demure and coloufully and often beautifully dressed, the men are usually loud, often scruffy, blowing snot out of their nostrils through an open bus window, hoiking and spitting everywhere, and you can never be certain if its just baksheesh that theyre really after. I remember a backpacker saying "How can people who are so religious just lie to your face?" - and I thought the same thing, remembering the respectable well dressed earnest middle aged man at the Delhi railway station who advised me that the Tourist Ticket Office was definitely closed for the Commonwealth Games and I would need to go elsewhere, or the guy who came rushing out of the shop I had just left after buying something, shouting as he ran and waving a fake 100 rupee note  saying I had just given it to him  and demanding another one - I yelled at him angrily and told him he was a crook and to get out or I'll call the Cops. He  gave up and went back to the shop without a word!

Pushkar Sunset

Now of course I realise the backpackers mistake - its to think that being honest - virtue- is an end in itself - which it is in western ( ie christian ) religion, whereas to a Hindu virtue is a means to an end, and the end is more important than the means. Being religious in the Hindu sense is all about you, its not about the other its about doing whatever it takes to get you closer to being able to escape the cycle of suffering and birth and rebirth, and enter a state of eternal Bliss. And looking at all the misery and squalor thats the lot of so many millions of Indians , is it any wonder thats what they want to do? Making money and bettering yourself materially is definitely part of that religious duty - and as I mentioned before is why Ghandi, though  hugely admired, is generally  regarded as a highly atypical Hindu, having turned his back on all that.

Several times I heard tour guides warning their group of  American or British tourists climbing down from their airconditioned buses, to watch out for thieves and pickpockets. I must say I never met anyone who had been robbed or had thier pockets picked and I never felt threatened or in any danger though I wandered into many out of the way parts of towns and cities, past slums and heaps of rubbish being picked over by beggars, and through massively crowded bazaars and public spaces like the railway stations. I dont know if I was just lucky but my experience of people out on the streets in India was mainly either curiosity or indifference, and many people were really friendly and  chatty, though language barriers prevented me from having  any serious conversations with anyone other than people in the tourism business at one level or another. Apparently middle class Indians speak quite good english but I only ever saw them cruising past in airconditioned cars, paying scant attention to beggars tapping on the window - they certainly don't frequent the streets, cheap restaurants and other places Backpackers and the like hang out in , except perhaps for Connaught Place , the trendy CBD of Delhi, a place from which Cycle rickshaws are banned.

The Lovely couple running Krishna Palace in Jaipur

I have been asked already would I do it again and would I do it the same way again? The answer is "Yes" and "No". There is still lots of India to explore and every part seems to be vastly different from every other part, so I realise I have only tasted one small bit. I think in the future I would still travel independently but I would try to plan ahead a little more, knowing what I know now about the popularity of train travel, and the Sleeper berths. I would try to travel in the daytime rather than overnight because then you see the country and dont miss out on sleep, and you dont have a day feeling hungover. I still wouldnt do a small group tour but I imagine it could be a reasonable alternative because the intensity of  reality in India is such that it couldnt be easily filtered out. Nevertheless much would be missed.


A Family on the move




Local Colour

The Indian Tourism slogan "Incredible India" is exactly right. The little bit that I saw, as a tiny taste of India revealed it to be amazing and really beyond description - though I have tried anyway! It is at once beautiful and horrible, elegant and shameful, ancient and modern, spiritual and worldly, tranquil and chaotic, hostile and friendly, intimate and uncaring, shocking and delightful, filthy and pristine, admirable and despicable, a country I am sure like no other.

Udaipur Sunrise

Writing the Blog has been fun and a great way to make me reflect on what I was experiencing every day.  I hope nobody has been upset by anything I have written, and to my wonderful friends from India who know it and love it for the complex and awesome place that it is, please make allowances for my ignorance. I welcome any and all feedback, and to all those who offered help, advice, support and feedback along the way : Thanks so much! I know I have only scratched the surface, but still my Visit to India was extraordinary and unforgettable.

Delhi Revisited

Cooking my lunch

The alleys and streets that extend back from the ghats in Varanasi are the narrowest ones I’ve ever wandered through – in places you could simultaneously touch both sides .I was invited to come in for a haircut when I wandered past a tiny barber shop and decided it was about time .These streets  were relatively cool and quiet  because Tuktuks  couldn’t fit through, but still the occasional motorbike with lots of tooting would squeeze by Eventually this old part of Varanasi merges with newer parts where streets are a bit wider but the same dusty congestion prevails and of course all manner of vehicle, making it noisy and horrible. But I did find a nice place for some local food on a main street not far away.

Getting my haircut

On Friday morning after my last wander along the ghats I cleaned up and repacked and headed for the airport. My tour of India was coming to an end and I could hardly believe it. I was glad I had visited Varanasi at the end because after that place everything else would have been almost an anticlimax – it really was a fascinating experience and extraordinary spectacle.

                            

On the bus from the Delhi Airport into the city, I caught myself marveling at how clean and tidy and orderly everything seemed – and yet when I had first been driven along these very same streets a month ago, when I first arrived, I had thought they were shockingly chaotic and filthy! The other thing that I noticed was how few cows there were, and there were no monkeys or camels. And I missed them.

I spent Saturday wandering a market called Chandi Chowk. I also inspected the site of an industrial accident where, 100 yards from my hotel, the sides of a huge hole being dug for an underground carpark collapsed, taking with it the ramshackle shops along its edge, the footpath and a few vehicles and people. I had seen this on TV just before I left the hotel, not realizing it was just across the road! In the evening I had dinner in a  lovely Chinese restaurant on Connaught Place, which is the hub of the city as far as tourists are concerned – there are posh shops selling all the famous brands, smart hotels and quality local shops as well. I went there to meet a woman who was related to one of my friends in Australia, and to give her the present from him that I had been carrying everywhere. Today, Sunday I didnt have to check out till 12 noon, and as my plane to Berlin doesnt leave till midnight I had an extra late breakfast and an extra long shower before repacking everything and heading to Paharganj, the part of Delhi that I first came to, to check email and do some last minute shopping. Once again I am shocked to  recall how I thought this place looked chaotic and filthy  when I first got here! Now after seeing a bit more of India I realise this street is not really like the real India at all -  the real India  is much more chaotic and crowded and dusty and filthy and congested and overrun with animals and people and kids and beggars and holymen and touts and carts and stalls and did I mention the cows? I will probably make another posting to the Blog from Germany, maybe just reflecting on my Trip, but right now I do feel quite sad and a bit upset to be leaving this absolutely amazing and unforgettable place. I have had the most incredible time.

On Death and Dying

Funeral Fire at the Burning Ghat

I visited the Burning ghats twice and it wasn’t what I was expecting. What I was expecting was  more of what I had already observed  - but perhaps more elaborate and solemn - ritual ,  more incense and offerings and candles, more holy men and priests, perhaps a real feeling of awe and religious reality ,and perhaps open expression of emotion and grief, perhaps a feeling that I shouldn’t be there intruding on so sad and personal a moment in the life of the family. I imagined this would be why photos were strictly forbidden. I felt nervous at the prospect of seeing  dead people and bodies being burned.

A little Shiva Temple

In fact what I found was quite shocking but in  a completely different way – the place was as filthy as anywhere else in the city, there was ash and mud coating everything, the edges of the Holy River were knee deep in floating rubbish , there was virtually no religious ceremony taking place, no incense other than the acrid clouds of smoke from the  pyres, and the few mourners hanging around after the fire took hold were men. There were no priests, no chanting, no bells, only the merest of rituals and no emotion. Cows wandered through as they would anywhere, and tough wiry and utterly filthy men unloading barges bringing the timber for the fires struggled past the fires with huge loads, to and from the barges in single file as if the fires were just rubbish burning.

The corpses were brought down to the ghat  strapped onto a sort of bamboo stretcher and were wrapped in  cheap tinsel looking  shiny and glittery cloth. The whole stretcher was taken to the edge of the river and the body immersed completely for a couple of seconds then the stretcher was left unattended on the steps to drain while the pyre was prepared. Eventually the string holding it all together was broken and the tinsel cloth ripped off and chucked onto the rubbish pile  to one side and the body wrapped now in a white sheet was placed on the pyre.  A few more logs were placed on top and after walking round it all in single file 5 times and chanting a few prayers and sprinking a few offerings onto the pyre, it was lit with a bunch of dry rushes, and pretty quickly, especially if the family could afford the best wood, the whole thing was ablaze. Blackened limbs and the shoulders and head could be see burning – a macabre scene to be sure but for me the shocking part of it all was the pragmatic and unemotional way the whole process functioned – it really seemed as if they were just burning rubbish. 
 

Dogs harassing a saddhu

To me this all fits with the Hindu preoccupation with self and an indifference to “the other”  something which was illustrated in even more shocking fashion on my last morning in Varanasi when I went for my last morning walk along the ghats. There is a place where a sort of footbridge about 50 yards long links one ghat to the next but you can walk along under it as well, which is what I did. It was obviously a favourite place for men to piss, such was the stink. 

Halfway along a low pile of rags turned out to be an old woman lying across the path, almost naked, with a large gash on her abdomen, flies crawling over her face and half shut eyes, limbs feebly moving, she was almost dead. I stood before her feeling helpless, there was nothing I or anyone could have done for her, but why was she here dying all alone a few metres from where thousands of pilgrims were coming to perform acts of piety at one of the holiest places in India? I moved on, and looking back saw several people walk past without a glance at her. I spent all the rest of the day thinking about what this all meant.

 

Boating

Boat Heaven

Each morning in Varanasi - I had three - from my balcony I watched the sun come up over the far side of the Ganga., and at the same time as it rose rowing boats full of pilgrims and tourists began to appear,one at a time at first and then it became a rush  hour as the yellow morning light gradually illuminated the unfolding activity on the ghats. Soon a flood of boats crept upstream close to the bank and then drifted back down in the middle of the river, some carrying 30 or more pilgrims and others just one or two. I took  a boat like that on my second morning and though it was good I think the boat trips are a bit over rated, having spent two other mornings down on the ghats themselves - for me the problem with being on a boat is you cant stop and just observe, the boatman keeps you  moving along, and also, as I had already noticed each boat with tourists on atracts hawkers in their own boats wanting to sell you stuff so instead of watching the shore youre distracted fending off the hawkers, or buying stuff which you could easily do on shore.


The Morning Ritual

In my case I was alone on the boat only for a short while, a hawker stepping onboard just after we first set off - but what an intriquing hawker this one was! She was a really sweet little girl aboutr 10 years old and she had a little handbag full of stuff she wanted me to buy, mostly postcards but also a sort of temporary tatoo set with coloured dyes and Bindis which I think are the  dots Indian people have on their foreheads but these ones are elaborate little stick-ons . The thing about this girl, whose name was Nyna - or something- was that after  a while of getting nowhere with me - she would suddenly  revert to being a happy go lucky kid and start chatting and laughing and mucking around - maybe it was a sort of good cop/bad cop routine because then after  15 minutes or so she would reach into her bag and find something else she wanted me to buy, and I would get the hard sell again. When I found a little fish in the bilges she instantly said I should pay 200  rupees and it would be set free and I would receive good karma - like the owls the night before - but when she eventually realised I wasnt going to fork out she flipped it over the side anyway!



My Boat

 

Nyna

She took over rowing the boat for a while and never stopped chattering away to the guy supposed to be doing the work, and smiling and laughing. She made rowing look easy so I had a go and couldnt believe how heavy and clumsy the oars were, so she must have been a really tough little thing.When I pulled my book of NZ pictures out of my bag she pored over every single one and chatted and laughed about it nonstop with the skipper - she seemed a really inquisitive and intelligent girl, but she said she didnt go to school because she had to earn money.

But what we were supposed to be observing was the morning rituals along the Ganga, basically men - the very occasional old woman - sitting on the steps doing funny liittle stretching exercises then stripping down to baggy  underpants and soaping themslves down and  getting into the river to clean off, usually by holding thier noses and doing a series of three or four ducks under the water. I observed a group of men talking together with great animation as they did all this , they burst ino a chant at one point, they offered prayers and after getting all cleaned up disappeared  back up into the city. There were also pilgrims, lighting little fires, setting flowers and candles adrift, offering prayers and immersing themselves in the river.

Probably checking the Stockmarket

 I watched a sadhu - or perhaps a sadhu pretender - spend absolutely for ever getting himself all cleaned up, oiled and massaged and then redressed in his white clothes and orange turban, taking a few steps this way and that and looking over his shoulder to see how the pleats on his clothes fell, and then finally picking up his little pail and his stick and heading off in time to catch the rush hour of toursists flooding down onto the ghats. I watched another  definite fake sadhu with lots of face paint and white lines on his arms pose with his lame leg curled around a sort of crutch, collect a good bit of cash for the photos taken by a german tour group horde, and then, once they were safely out of sight he uncurled his leg and sauntered off quite casually and without the slightest hint of any disability in the opposite direction. You just have to love it! There were of course many little altars at which sat - well I suuppose they were priests , and earnest pilgrims would undergo with them the rituals of Puja, paying respect and obtaining the blessing  of the Holy Waters - like I did in Pushkar.

This guy is the Real Deal



Angels Owls and Dogs

My balcony is in the yellow bit left of the three small arches 3/4 of the way up

So, at about lunch time, I finally arrived in Varanasi and I found a room I liked at the fourth place I went to - a small clean concrete sort of room with a balcony that was directly above the ghat - about 60 feet I would say - and the Ganges - but first I had to evict the mongoose. Then I had a sleep for a couple of hours. 

There are basically four things every visitor does here - the first is wander along the ghats that line the river for a couple of miles and observe what goes on at various times of the day, the second is to visit the so-called "burning ghats" which is where dead people are cremated 24 hours a day, the third thing is to go for a boat ride on the ganges and lastly you can wander the really narrow maze of streets in the old town and do some shopping. There are also a few temples and what-have-you to visit if you're so inclined - which I wasn't really but I did wander into the Golden Temple by mistake one day. A sign says nonHindus may not enter this sacred place but on the other hand if you buy a "passport" you may! I see now how wonderfully Hindu this practice is whereas before I might have been tempted to dark cynicism about money and religion. 

Sun rising over the Ganga

The first thing I did was go down to the ghats and wander along just after sunset. I was  just in time to catch the nightly performance that attracts hundreds of indian Hindu visitors who crowd the steps like fans at a footy match and cram themselves into 20 or 30 boats which line up several deep in front of the platform on which an amazing ceremony takes place. Basically  in front of a small temple wreathed in incense and flowers and candles and garlands and flags and all sorts of little offerings there are 5 guys all dressed up and each on his own mini stage with a sort of flaming torch/candelholder device that is moved about in synchrony with each other and the fantastic loud music, with another person clanging a cymbal and a third  working a small drum, so its crowded, hot noisy and totally engrossing as clouds of smoke and incense drift across everything and the hindu devotees spend heaps on offerings and the like from men moving through the crowds. Naturally there are lots of foreigners there as well and we become legitimate targets for the usual hawkers of postcards and trinkets, balloons, snacks, DVD's, boat rides and personal guides.Many are children and I watched for 15 or 20 minutes one tot who was working the crowd brilliantly at the age of about 4. One guy approached me with several small wire cages and in each one was a most beautiful little owl - he explained that  for 200rupees I could set the owl free and this would be good Karma for me. The music was mesmerizing, drumming in that wonderful indian way (tabla), an accordion like sound (Harmonium) and someone, a male, singing like an angel. I thought it was a recording it was so pure and faultless and effortless but I squeesed through the crowd and discovered there were two musicians sitting on the ground before microphones, one with the drum, the other playing the accordion thing and doing the singing at the same time.  The guy singing had a completely paralyzed and withered right arm so to work the bellows on the harmonium he had to drape the arm over  it and move his shoulder back and forth to make the arm move - incredibly awkward but he was extraordinary.To me he was the star of the  show so I went to see  and hear him again the following night but on the third night  a different singer turned up and he wasn't a patch on this guy.  When it was all over and he stood up he had the most wonderfully happy look on his face. No-one seemed to pay him any attention, they were all struggling to get bits of blessed chopped up vegetable, or to wave  their hands in the smoke from the flaming torches and get themselves a blessing. Every day I understand and see it illustrated  more and more clearly  that the essential fact about Hindu religion is that it is about obtaining blessing and Karma and reward for ones self. The extreme form,The Holy Men have renounced everything the world has to offer to concentrate wholly and utterly on themselves and their path. It is not about "the other"

I slept well that first night, but the second was interrupted by a pack of dogs barking and baying and yelping on the ghat below my room. These dogs are real pests and they add absolutely nothing to the romance of India unlike virtually every other animal and thing you might come across. There are dogs everywhere, universally mangy and flea bitten, constantly scratching themselves, coats patchy and skin broken from fighting each other, they harass people and frighten children and have to be warded off with stones or sticks.  Eventually I got so fed up with  the racket that I decided I had to do something so I got up and after refilling my water bottle, I flung it out across the ghat where it crashed and split open in front of the startled dogs who took off in all directions. The following day I saw kids lighting firecrackers so bought a few for myself, looking forward to dropping them on those damn dogs if they should return but, to my dismay they didn't. But it felt so good to win one!

Its not always about the Destination..

Early morning

When the sun eventually came up I couldn’t tell if I had  slept or not, but the lower bunk had been vacated along the way so I folded mine down and sat by the open window and a cool breeze and watched the countryside roll past. It was flat and completely covered in a patchwork of crops in various states of growth from  just planted to just harvested and of various kinds as well as vegetable patches and watercourses, and rows of trees and little villages. I saw one tractor but everywhere else the ploughing and weeding and harvesting was done with the help of animals and by hand , mostly womens hands as far as I could tell, and there they would sit, on their haunches with a short sickle weeding or cutting down the wheat or soy or whatever it was. I realized this was a way of life that was virtually untouched by modern civilization, and though hard would surely be preferable to life in the city, except for the fact that in the city there was always that faint hope that somehow your luck might change and you could break free. I think its a fundamental of human nature that prefers the uncertainty of a wretched life with hope, to a certain but hard life with none. 

The  Station

And then finally we arrived at Varanasi. The Stations are amazing places, always frantically busy and crowded, as are the trains, but waiting in the station is an experience all of its own, something which only the Disorganized Traveler would ever get much of a chance to experience. But I have sat in and wandered these places for 10 or 12 hours in the last few days, albeit involuntarily. Outside there is always a massively overcrowded  and rowdy taxi and bus area with associated smoky food stalls and other assorted hawkers, and from here touts penetrate all parts looking for custom. You step off the train into a posse of them, all after you, and some are incredibly persistent and right in your face. I try to ignore them at first and move away so I can gather my bearings and try to remember the name of the Hotel or wherever it is I am supposed to be going. The station platform itself will be crowded with people waiting for trains,and stacks of freight weighting to be loaded as well, much of it packaged into cartons  the size of say a washing machine and quite neatly wrapped in white cloth, with felt-tip pen lettering. Many of the people must be planning a very long wait because they spread a ragged sheet out on the concrete just about anywhere and lie down to sleep. 

Sometimes all you see is something like a corpse wrapped in a sheet, sleeping on the grubby concrete, but often it is clearly whole families all lined up asleep late at night, small children and babies included and a wall of baggage.There are free drinking water taps - best left alone by foreigners - and waiting rooms for Ladies and for High Class Gentlemen that have a squat toilet - dont ask- and there are kiosks that sell magazines, books, snacks and what-have you. Outside, between the station and the road at Agra there were scores of people sleeping like this outside, alongside the dust and filth and  spit and animal shit and rubbish and the stink of urine everywhere, probably many were beggars and impoverished little families rather than travelers, all asleep by 10.30 at night but with dogs and cows and touts and taxis milling all round them. Even on the platform itself dont be surprised to see the odd cow wander by, and dogs, and there are always beggars and if you look down at the railway line itself, between the tracks is a massive collection of rubbish and scurrying everywhere hundreds of rats, plump frisky things that barely change  what theyre doing if someone jumps down near them to cross to the other platform. Unbelievable… 

Getting Cranky

Entering the Red Fort

I suppose you could say that if you're not on an organised tour, you're on an unorganized or even perhaps in my case a disorganized tour. Some who know me well would understand that concept! But really this is the challenge of independent travel in a place like this, the challenge is to go headlong into the unpredictable chaos and see if you can get through it....which is a roundabout way of saying I missed the train!  What happened was that when I booked my train from Agra to Varanasi 48 hrs before, the train was full but they have a waiting list system - which I knew something of, having discussed it once  with some guys who said they got on no problem and they were something like 34th and 35th on the list. So I asked where would I be in the queue and the woman in the Station Ticket Office said 7th so I said "No problem" , bought the WL Ticket and thought no more about it, duly turning up at 7pm Sunday to be allocated my seat - but the guy said I would have to see the conductor on the train when it arrived at 9.30, which I did and there were no seats! What an absolute bloody pain! So then I went and got a refund and made some more desperate inquiries and was told to try again at 8am. So by now its 10.30 and I have to find a  hotel, and you feel totally vulnerable to the scammers and touts but by then I was  really cranky so I used all my tricks on the pack waiting outside to eventually get a tuktuk guy to take me to about 4 different places, for 50 Rupees - they started off wanting 150 - before I finally got a room.

TukTuks etc outside Station

And what a room! A scruffy pink door with green and brown painted squares , ghastly dirty  mauve curtains with a damp frill, green walls with orange trim, grayish stained and frayed sheets, stinky bathroom - and they wanted 2490 rupees for it. The guy at the front desk made a huge display of getting out his calculator and offering me a special discount and brought it down to 2100 rupees and I said no way, he said "OK How much ?" I said 1500 - well it had aircon and TV, and I was exhausted -  he said sorry no possible so I walked out.to the street again, its nearly midnight in some backstreet of Agra and I ask the TukTuk guy to take me somewhere else but then the Front Desk guy appears saying OK OK 1800, last price, I shake my head, the Tuk Tuk guy starts his motor and the Front Desk guy says OK 1500 and I'm in! And theres one more thing - I cant bring myself to have a shower in his stinky room but turn off the aircon as its cool by now and turn off the light to at last go to sleep on the dubious bed and hear a loud irritating regular bang which  turns out to be water dripping from the Air-con on the floor above dropping onto the air-con outside my window. But the window cant be opened - so I got my nail file and undid a couple of screws holding it shut and took one of the dodgy brown vinyl cushions off the dilapidated settee, stuffed it through the tiny window and sat it on top of the air-con outside where the drops were hitting - no more noise! And in the morning I pulled it back in and rescrewed the window. A small victory to cheer me up.

Shady Grass you can lie down on at the Red Fort

The Taj and a Kite from the Red Fort

I was starting to feel a bit desperate fearing I was going to be trapped in Agra, which after having seen the Taj and the Red Fort - which was  worth it for more Taj views and a nice bit of grass to lie on - has not much else going for it, being so polluted and crowded and dusty - but I headed back to the station, was first in the queue because I got there so early, so started to feel better - maybe my luck had changed -  and then at a minute to eight realized I hadn't picked up a little form you have to fill in so I went and got one and went to the back of the bloody queue. And I hadnt had breakfast. I was starting to curse everything.

Anyhow, when I finally got back to the window again and  after a lot of frowning and wrinkling his face, which made me think I was doomed to stay in Agra for ever, the guy found me a non AC Sleeper berth on a train leaving at 1130 that night, which was a huge relief but now I had a day to kill in Agra. I put my luggage into Storage - at the "Cloakroom" on the station - and paid the government tourist guy 1000 rupees to take me in a flash aircon Taxi  to Fatephur Sikri for the day, with a stop off at a restaurant on the way for breakfast. I just paid it all and couldnt be bothered trying to get a better price and all that - it was only 25 bucks! Just get me out of here! Fatephur Sikri, 40km away is another palace/Fort/Temple set up that had been on my original "to do " list but I had cancelled it after seeing a few other forts.

Fatephur Sikri - Temple area

Restful gardens at F-S - reminded me of Alhambra

The most interesting thing that happened was that while having my "breakfast" - it was nearly 12 by now - the "Guide" came and started chatting, the usual questions - are you married, how many children what is your job....so I asked him about his and he told me he had a wife and two children. He said  what a nice  man I was and he patted my hand a few times and then told me he also had a boyfriend! So I inquired a little further and he confided in me, as I was a foreigner and going away, that he had a long term gay lover but it had always to be secret and hidden from everyone else. I explained as clearly as I could that in my country if you were "like that" he didnt use the word gay or anything - you could be open about it and not get married to a woman to try to hide it. And  I wasnt travelling without  a wife because I was gay! But thanks...

So I spent the day impatiently killing time, telling anyone who approached to push off and leave me alone, and eventually got back to the station about 9pm, got my bags and at last when the train arrived  I crept into my little slot - the middle bunk this time - and try as I might and despite my exhaustion slept  hardly at all as the slow  multistops train ground its way to Varanasi over the next 14 hours.

To be continued....